Don't Touch My Petunia

by Tara Sheets

  A hollow ache settled in the pit of her stomach. She’d never find another place to work that she loved this much. Everything had gone to hell, and here she was, sitting in the handbasket. If only Logan O’Connor had never come back to Pine Cove Island. If only her employer didn’t feel obligated to leave his nephew a legacy. If only she hadn’t felt so betrayed by both of them.

  In a way, without realizing it, Juliette had begun to think of Romeo as family. He looked out for her and relied on her to take care of his shop. She trusted his judgment, and they’d worked very well together over the years. When he made his announcement at his house the night before, Juliette had felt as though he’d slapped her. How could Romeo betray her? His decision to leave his shop to Logan had made it very clear to Juliette that she wasn’t “family.” Not really. She may have spent years working and proving she belonged there, but in the end, she was still alone. Logan was Romeo’s real family. Even though he hadn’t been to Pine Cove Island in years, it didn’t matter.

  And then there was Logan. Hearing his casual acceptance of Romeo’s offer had been like a kick to the stomach after she’d already gone down. Not only did Romeo prove through his actions that he valued Logan more, Logan had shown Juliette how little he valued her. There was a nagging ache in her chest, a heaviness that wouldn’t go away, whenever she thought about the things she’d said back in her garden. But she wasn’t going to waste her time looking at it too closely. What did it matter?

  Juliette let out a harsh laugh. What did any of this matter? She yanked off her apron and placed the last vase of gladiolas in the walk-in refrigerator. The workday was over, and she’d fulfilled her obligations. The plants were thriving, the new floral arrangements were made, and orders had been filled. Without a future here, everything felt dull.

  Her phone rang and she grabbed it, not recognizing the number. “Hello?”

  “Mermaid!” Brock Templeton’s fake Australian accent boomed. “I haven’t seen you in ages. What have you been up to?”

  Oh, just sifting through the wreckage of my life. “Not much. What are you doing?”

  “I’m standing outside your flowery store.”

  For a brief moment, his jovial voice lifted her spirits. Who the hell cared if his accent was fake? If his abs were airbrushed? At least he couldn’t break her heart.

  “Go around to the back patio,” Juliette said quickly. “I’ll let you in.”

  Brock was waiting on the patio with a boyish grin and a bottle of—giant surprise—fancy champagne. His hair was expertly tousled, which Juliette now knew was no accident. His clothes were casual, but expensive, and his shoes were so clean, they had to be brand new. There was nothing genuine about Brock, nothing sincere about the way he looked at her, and no chance in hell she could fall for anyone like him.

  “Hey, girl,” he said. “You want to come over to my place? We can watch Netflix and chill, or something.”

  Juliette blinked. That would be a rock-hard pass. She was suddenly so tired from everything that had happened recently. Maybe a little mindless distraction would do her some good. “Why don’t we just hang out here?”

  Brock’s disappointed gaze roamed over the large patio. The wrought iron tables were inlaid with colorful mosaic designs, and the matching bistro chairs had multicolored cushions. There were canvas umbrellas over the tables, and the area was big enough for twenty or thirty people.

  “All right,” he said. “I guess this’ll work.”

  Juliette went into the kitchen and grabbed a couple of glasses. He was just hanging up his phone when she joined him outside.

  “I’ve only got these.” She held up two drinking glasses. “Sorry we don’t have any plastic beer cups.”

  Brock laughed. “The delivery doesn’t matter.” He popped open the champagne and poured them each a glass.

  Juliette sat in a chair and propped her feet up on the chair opposite her. She took a gulp of champagne and leaned her head back to stare up at the sky. What was she going to do, now that owning the shop was out of the question? Where was she going to go?

  “So what do you think, mermaid?” Brock said amiably.

  “About what?” Juliette held out her glass for more champagne. This stuff was good. Maybe Brock’s enthusiasm had merit.

  “You and me,” he said, pouring her some more. “I’ll be out of here soon. And I think you and I should—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Juliette waved her hand. “You think we should bang.”

  “Exactly,” he said, clinking his glass against hers.

  “You know you can drop the accent, right?”

  Brock looked perplexed for a moment. “Well, it’s easier to stay in character if I maintain it—you feel me?”

  Yeah, she felt him. If only her life were as simple as his. If only all she had to worry about was looking good, drinking champagne, and keeping up appearances.

  Two glasses of champagne later, a group of people came around from the side walkway, chattering and laughing.

  “Oi! We’re back here,” Brock called. He leaned forward to refill her glass. “I invited some of my mates from the camera crew, if that’s all right. We’ve grown tired of hanging out on the houseboat, and O’Malley’s Pub is all right, but the plebs.” He shuddered.

  “What do you mean?”

  He made a face. “You know, those z-grade scrubbers and blokes yelling at the game on TV all the time. They’re so basic.”

  “They’re locals.” Irritation pricked at her skin. Brock obviously thought the people of Pine Cove Island were beneath him. She held out her glass for more champagne. Nothing like some liquid sunshine to drown out everyone’s shady flaws.

  He poured her another glass and waved to his buddies.

  Juliette was not surprised to see they were all wearing black. Three of the guys had on baseball caps and carried a cooler between them. Two others had messenger bags.

  “Do you guys always dress in black?” Juliette asked. But it was more like a giggle. She was beginning to feel fuzzy from all the bubbly.

  “It’s in our contract,” one of the younger guys said. He looked like he was in his early twenties, with wispy brown hair and a barely there goatee. The other two guys set the cooler down and opened the lid to reveal more bottles of champagne.

  The guy with the goatee seemed unimpressed with the patio. “So this is where you work?”

  She shook her head. “Not for long. I gave my notice today.” She kept her tone light, trying desperately to mask the sharp pain clawing at her insides. “So I’m almost out of here.”

  “Well, this is a celebration then,” Brock said cheerfully. “It’s your going away party.”

  Sure it was. Juliette downed the rest of her champagne, and Brock refilled it. Why the hell shouldn’t she party? A few drinks never hurt anyone. And she’d just closed the shop for the day, so it wasn’t like they’d be bothering any customers. Romeo wasn’t coming in until tomorrow, and she might as well enjoy what little time she had left there.

  For the next two hours, Juliette drank and chatted with Brock and his equally shallow buddies. They talked about celebrities sleeping with other celebrities, who had the best cars, how much money people were worth, and all things wonderfully superficial. None of them asked her about herself, her past, or what she liked or didn’t like. Nobody expected her to say much of anything. All she had to do was hang out and be Brock’s arm charm. And drink. There was something comforting about it. In the back of her mind, she knew she’d have to go back to real life, but for now, this was an easy escape.

  She peered down into her empty glass and hiccupped. “I’m tanked.”

  Brock, who was discussing workout routines with one of the crew members, turned and laid a hand on her knee. “What’s that, luv?”

  “I said”—Juliette showed him her glass—“I’m deep in my cups.”

  He cocked his head. “Ay?”

  “Three sheets to the wind,” Juliette explained with a giggle. “Hammered. Wasted.”
/>   “Oh, right. You and me both,” Brock said, holding up his beer.

  Wait, there was beer? She looked around, her vision a little foggier than usual. A large group of people were smoking and drinking, lounging on the patio furniture. Someone had brought in a keg, and two guys were filling cups for a milling group of revelers.

  She frowned. There had to be about twenty or thirty people on the patio now. Someone had turned on a portable speaker and a group of girls in shorts and bikini tops were dancing on the freshly planted grass, the tiny green shoots trampled beneath their feet.

  Juliette pointed at the grass. “Stop that.”

  No one seemed to hear her. One guy had turned on the garden hose, causing shrieks of laughter as he sprayed people at random. Two guys were arm wrestling at one of the patio tables. Somebody dropped a beer bottle and it shattered on the slate, causing more laughter.

  The entire back patio looked like a scene from one of Brock’s stupid beach shows.

  This wasn’t good. She shook her head, trying to clear it. Her limbs felt heavy, like she was moving underwater.

  “Here you go, luv,” Brock said, handing her another glass.

  “No.” Juliette pushed it away and rose unsteadily to her feet. “You guys should go.”

  “But it’s barely sundown,” Brock said. “Come on. Dance with me.” He took their drinks, set them on the table, and snaked his arms around her waist.

  The patio seemed to tilt as he jostled them back and forth, completely off beat to the song playing on the speakers.

  Juliette’s stomach lurched. “I need to sit down.”

  “Okay, but first, give us a kiss,” Brock teased. Before she could protest, he covered her mouth with his. His lips were clammy, and he tasted like warm beer and cigarettes.

  She grabbed his shoulders and yanked away, causing them both to stumble.

  Brock caught her in his arms and started to laugh.

  But Juliette wasn’t laughing. She was staring over Brock’s shoulder at the man standing near the side gate. The man who was looking at her with an expression she didn’t care to analyze. He wasn’t laughing, either.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The look on Logan’s face was worse than anything she could’ve imagined. It was cold and distant, and such a far cry from the way he used to look at her.

  She yanked herself out of Brock’s arms and staggered back, falling into a cushioned seat with a jarring thud. Everyone else seemed too busy partying to notice Logan’s glowering presence.

  For the longest ten seconds of her life, Logan stared at her, unmoving, unblinking. His eyes were creased at the corners, his jaw clenched in what she could only guess was anger and condemnation.

  Juliette dropped her head. She couldn’t look at him right now. She needed to go home and curl up in a ball and die.

  Logan walked swiftly over to the music and shut it off.

  “Party’s over,” he said. “Everyone leave.” It was the voice of a commanding officer, a voice that suffered no fools. Took no prisoners. There was absolutely no mistaking that he was the man in charge. “Now.”

  People grumbled, but gathered their things and began shuffling out of the yard through the side gate. All except Brock.

  “Come on, you gotta lighten up, mate,” Brock said, oblivious to the tension in the air between Logan and Juliette. “Sometimes it’s good to just hang, you know?”

  A muscle clenched in Logan’s jaw as he pointed to the side gate. “Get. Out.”

  Brock’s lip curled, and he looked at Juliette. “Can you believe this tosser? No wonder you quit your job.” He picked up his beer, finished it off, then tossed it onto the patio in smug defiance.

  Logan’s eyes narrowed. He walked up to Brock. “Pick it up.”

  “Sod off,” Brock said with a sneer. He started to shove Logan away.

  Logan gripped Brock by the shirt and lifted him as easily as if he were a cardboard cutout.

  “Oi! Get your hands off me.” Brock jerked away, staggering. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to start a real fight with Logan, then seemed to think better of it. Maybe he wasn’t so stupid after all. “I’m out of here,” Brock said, turning to Juliette. “But the party’s not over for us, right, luv?” He cocked his head toward the side gate. “Let’s go back to the houseboat.”

  “No.” She was tired of everyone, and everything. “I’ve had enough.”

  His expression turned petulant. “What about the plan? You know, we were going to . . .” He wiggled his eyebrows. Because he was the king of subtlety. If he’d made a hole with one hand and repeatedly stuck his pointer finger in and out of it, she wouldn’t have been surprised.

  Juliette shook her aching head. “Not happening.”

  Brock looked angry now. He glanced back and forth between Logan and Juliette. “All you locals suck, you know that?”

  Before Logan could react, Juliette rushed to stand between them. “Just leave, Brock. You’re better off sticking with people way up on your level.”

  When he didn’t move right away, Juliette gave a little wave. “Cheerio, mate.”

  She watched him storm away, then she went into the kitchen to get a broom.

  When she came back out, Logan was standing on the patio looking at the mess.

  Juliette cringed. There was broken glass on the slate rock and spilled beer on the seat cushions.

  Humiliation reared its ugly head, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She’d messed up, bad. Inviting Brock to hang out had been the stupidest of ideas. And now Logan was here to witness her disgrace.

  Logan took the broom from her hands and began sweeping.

  Now she felt worse. Why was he helping her? Oh, yeah, because the place was going to be his.

  “I’ll do it,” Juliette said irritably. She tried to take the broom, but he held it away.

  “Just go home, Juliette.” He didn’t look her in the eye. It was clear he was disappointed in her.

  Why did it hurt so much? Why did she even care? She shouldn’t. He was the one who’d betrayed her and ruined everything. “I can clean this up myself,” she said sharply.

  “Like hell you can,” Logan shot back. “You’re drunk, Juliette. If you don’t call a ride, I’ll drive you home. But either way, you’re leaving.”

  “I don’t need you to drive me home,” she said. “You’ve done enough to help me, thanks.”

  “I’m not the one who trashed the patio with my drinking buddies,” he said in an icy voice. “You say you just want to have fun and you don’t want to take things seriously, but you expect Romeo to just turn over his business to you when it’s clear you haven’t grown up.”

  “Oh, I haven’t grown up?” Who the hell did he think he was, lecturing her? “I’ve taken care of myself my whole life. You’re the one who’s been given everything. Don’t you dare accuse me of not being grown up.”

  Logan stopped sweeping and pierced her with a cold, penetrating stare. “You say you care about the shop. That you love plants and this place is everything you’ve ever wanted.” He swept his arm out wide. “Is this what you want?”

  The backyard was completely trashed. Empty plastic cups and fast food wrappers were scattered on the ground. Crushed cigarette butts littered the tall flower urns, and water spewed from the forgotten garden hose, flooding the trampled grass.

  She suddenly felt ill. Logan had a point, and she didn’t like it. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say that would fix things. It was clear he thought she was incapable. By morning, the note she’d left for Romeo wouldn’t even matter. Logan would have told him about tonight’s mess, and Romeo would probably fire her.

  She went into the kitchen and called Emma to come get her. Twenty excruciating minutes later, Juliette was on the highway heading home.

  * * *

  Logan placed the last glass in the kitchen sink and put away the broom. After Juliette left, he’d spent the hour cleaning up the mess. Now all evidence of the party was gone, with only the trample
d seedlings to tell the story of what had transpired. In the morning, he could easily reseed the grass, and it would grow in no time. He’d learned that from Juliette. She’d inadvertently taught him a lot about growing things. Plants were her “people,” after all.

  A sharp ache lanced through him when he’d watched Juliette leave in Emma’s car. The bond between them was broken. He’d ruined it by accepting Romeo’s offer without thinking it over. He’d had no idea how much it would hurt her. And now she didn’t want anything to do with him.

  Logan squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed a hand over his face. Juliette was as complicated as the wild roses growing in the woods near her house. Gorgeous and alluring and prickly and unforgiving. What had ever made him think things could work between them?

  When Romeo had announced his news, Logan had felt a fierce sense of relief. He’d believed it was a starting point for Juliette and him to have a life together. He already knew he wanted her, and this was a way to guarantee that their lives would be intertwined. She’d never be happy without the florist shop, and if he was a permanent part of it—the owner—then they could stay together. Now he realized what a mistake he’d made. He shouldn’t have tried to force it.

  But none of that mattered because she didn’t want him anyway. Hell, she’d even tried to get Bella and him together. If he’d somehow hoped Juliette would come to her senses and take back the painful things she’d said in her garden, the scene on the patio—her in Brock’s arms—finally brought home what he should’ve known earlier. She really didn’t want him. He needed to accept it. They were all wrong for each other, and he’d been too stupid to see it. Until now.

  He let out a frustrated breath and did a final check of the back patio and gardens. Everywhere he looked, he saw Juliette’s influence. Her love and care of the plants was evident in all the details, from the carefully chosen terra-cotta pots for the gardenias along the walkway, to the hanging flower baskets under the eaves.

  Back in the kitchen, a folded piece of paper lay in the middle of the table. He felt a deep sense of foreboding as he opened the single sheet and read the short note.